The morning sun spilled across the Blackwood Estate, but Elara felt anything but peaceful.
She had barely slept, her mind replaying the accidental kiss from last night over and over. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Lucien's dark, intense gaze, felt the heat of his lips brushing hers, and shivered at the memory.
And now, she had to face the world.
The annual Blackwood Charity Gala was today. A lavish affair, with high-profile guests, media coverage, and—most dangerously—Lucien's ex-business associates, including Adrian Kane.
Elara's stomach twisted.
"Relax," Lucien said, his deep voice behind her. His presence filled the hallway like a storm waiting to break. "I'll be right there with you."
"Right," she muttered, adjusting the elegant gown he had insisted she wear. The dress hugged her in all the wrong ways for her nerves, making her feel exposed in more than one sense.
The moment they arrived, the tension began. Cameras flashed, assistants scurried, and Lucien's protective gaze never left her.
Then—of course—Adrian Kane appeared.
He leaned casually against the buffet table, eyes flicking toward her. A small, teasing smirk curled his lips.
Elara froze.
Lucien's hand tightened on hers, fingers pressing into her palm just enough to remind her he was there—and he owned her.
"Stay close," he murmured, his voice low, vibrating in her chest.
Elara followed him like a shadow. Every step, every glance from Adrian sent shivers down her spine, every nerve on fire.
Then disaster struck.
A photographer's camera flashed directly at them, catching the aftermath of the kiss—their close proximity, the lingering glances, the way Lucien's hand pressed protectively—and suddenly, a media assistant began whispering to a reporter.
Within minutes, whispers spread: "Lucien Blackwood and his wife… a scandalous moment?"
Elara's face burned. She wanted to disappear. She wanted to melt into the ground.
Lucien's dark eyes, however, were a storm of possessiveness and fury.
"Who saw this?" he asked quietly, jaw tight, voice low enough that only she could hear.
"I—don't know!" she whispered, panicked.
"Good." His fingers brushed hers again, grounding her, but his aura radiated warning. "Because anyone who thinks they can come between us… will regret it."
The gala dragged on, each minute torturous for Elara. She could feel Lucien's gaze constantly on her, protective and dangerous, a silent threat to anyone who dared step too close.
Adrian Kane lingered, clearly testing the waters, smiling too casually, too knowingly.
Finally, unable to stand it any longer, Lucien pulled her aside to a quiet corner.
"Did you enjoy that?" he asked, voice low, teasing—but with an edge that made her pulse hammer.
"Enjoy what?" she asked, trying to sound innocent.
"That," he said, gesturing to the aftermath of the kiss, the photographers, the whispers. "You know exactly what I mean."
Elara's cheeks burned. "I didn't mean—"
"I know," he interrupted, stepping closer. The heat radiating from him was unbearable. "But now the world sees it. Now everyone knows. And anyone who thinks they can threaten you… me… will regret it."
Her breath caught. Her pulse raced. She wanted to pull back—and at the same time, she didn't.
"Lucien…" she whispered, voice trembling, "what if—"
"What if nothing?" he asked, cutting her off. Then, softer, "Nothing matters. You are mine. No one else. Do you understand?"
"Yes," she whispered, unable to say more, unable to look away.
And in that moment, amidst the flashing cameras, the whispers, and the tension, she realized something terrifying:
The slow burn was over.
The fire had begun.